Little My
by kickintheshin
Summary: A chance meeting in childhood viciously intertwines the fates of Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. Hannigram, childhood!AU with childhood fluff, teen smut and graphic murder. Part one of two.
1. 6 & 8

[AN: The extended prologue of a hopefully two parter series, AU, following Hannibal and Will through intertwined lives. This is written by myself and **iamtheletter13, **who has the forced pleasure of reading most of my fandom related nonsensical drabbles, and is currently computerless. Though each chapter will he edited, Will is generally written by myself, Hannibal by her. Mild warning for dark subject matter, future gore and teen smut. And Moomin's.]

A stream of mid-afternoon sun flickered through the classroom, illuminating the rowdy, playing children scattered around the classroom, dust particles flicking through the air. And Will Graham, a mere six years old, took a moment to stare, drawn away from the whimsical comic book that he often had set on his lap, from his corner, which was his corner; the teacher's made quite sure. The child didn't like noise, too much excitement, overloading his oh-so frail mind.

Will stared, stared for quite a few moments, blinking softly at the streaky sun for a small eternity.. covered his mouth with his fleecy jacket, turning back to engross himself in the blobby, hippo-like characters inked on the page below, not sure what had pulled him away from his book. A sense of childish foreboding, almost. He felt it often.

Hannibal was in the back seat of his new father's car, blinking up at him as he was beckoned forward.

"Do you think he'll have trouble getting along? He... he hasn't said a word to us this entire time. Maybe he's mute." The woman at the stranger's side muttered worriedly.

"Oh, Darla, he's fine, he's just scared. C'mon, Hanni, it's time for class." He was too old to be a first grader, but he didn't seem to know any English, and his understanding of numbers was rudimentary at best. His father didn't like to think about the place Hannibal must have come from.

Slowly, the blond climbed from the vehicle, blinking at the building he was being sent to. He was worried his new parents would leave him there.

"I'll go get the teacher and explain things. You get him inside, dear." The man said, wandering away.

Hannibal was ushered inside the classroom, a teacher having expected his arrival for some time. They dealt with a lot of troubled children, had the facilities to handle them.

Darla followed Hannibal inside, watching the other children almost neurotically. Out of all the foster children she'd had the pleasure of caring for, Hannibal was the most damaged, the quietest child she'd ever had stay in her home. She was quite protective of him.

"Mrs Bates? You're early." The teacher exclaimed, approaching the two.

"The traffic wasn't nearly as bad as we expected it to be." She sounded nervous, hands on her foster son's shoulder.

Hannibal's eyes scanned the room, searching for someone he could spend some time with, at least until they shipped him away. He didn't tend to make bonds with people, he just liked being near them, was comforted by the safety of a crowd of children.

He spotted Will, alone in the corner, guessing he was lonely and shrugging his foster mother's hands from him to wander over. The blond stood over Will for a moment, watching the swirl of hair on top of his head. He couldn't remember ever seeing such clean, tidy curls, however aggressive they seemed to be. He wanted to touch them desperately, reaching but stopping because he knew it was impolite.

"Hannibal? Sweetheart..." Darla was overjoyed by Hannibal approaching Will of his own free will. The teacher she'd been engaged in conversation, however, did not share her tangible enthusim. Will was instantly on edge, his book held tightly to his chest, the child scrambling from the beanbag, that was his, at such a speed he was liable to injure himself.

"Will? I-its okay, he doesn't want to..." The teacher that usually consoled Will during an episode lingered nearby.

"Do you want to go to calm down somewhere?" Will looked utterly terrified, though he somehow achieved this without his facial expression changing in the slightest.

Hannibal seemed annoyed by the teacher's behavior. He took Will's hand in his own, letting their skin slowly slide together, and set it in his own hair as a silent apology.

Will was on his feet in a mere second, Hannibal pushed away from him, a claw-like hand pushing at his shoulder. His almost pristine hardback falling to the ground. He stood on the spine, accidentally, approaching the teacher, who was a safe person. Darla was horrified, holding Hannibal close.

"He doesn't mean it. W-Will, you know you can't hit. Or push. We've talked about this." The teacher chirruped in a mock-happy tone.

Darla frowned, turning to the teacher, who was still holding Will.

"He will be okay, won't he?" Darla asked. The teacher nodded.

"Yes. You should leave him to settle. I'll keep an eye in him." She smiled almost apologetically, leading Will back to his safe place, sitting him down. Will was acutely aware of the eyes boring into his head, the child uncomfortable beyond words.

"C'mon, Will. Your Daddy will be here to pick you up, soon." The teacher patted Will's cheek tenderly, chuckling. Will nodded, flicking back to the page he had been at previously, the male swallowing.

Hannibal shook his head so fervently the room spun. He didn't want to talk to any of the other children; Will was interesting. He was too fascinated to be offended, finding a seat and watching Will intently.

Will trembled, set uneasy by Hannibal's gaze, the way he was reading him. The woman stood next to him picked up his book from under his feet, placing the book carefully into his grasp, smiling far too chipperly at the boy.

"Why don't you tell Hannibal here about your book, Will?" She asked softly. Will stared intently at his feet, eyes wide, and Darla had almost instantly decided she did not want her foster son to fratinise in the slightest with such a child.

"I'm sure Hanni can find somebody else to play with. There's a lot of other boys and girls, here."

Hannibal was disappointed that Will seemed to be leaving soon, pulling his knees to his chest and sighing noisily. He wanted to touch Will's hair, his hand was aching to, but he had been refused, and it hurt. Hannibal was so rarely refused those days.

Hannibal's stare was beginning to visibly agitate Will. Though he didn't understand why, he stood, book still in his grasp, approaching the child, who was intimating more because of his age. Will was scared of most things, but Hannibal's face wss kind. He offered the older child his hand, almost demandingly. The teacher, who had retreated to split up an argument between two quarrelling children, caught sight of the exchange, gaping.

Hannibal shook Will's hand, patting the space next to him for the male. He curled one of his yellow locks around his finger, pointing to Will's hair.

Will tentatively sat himself next to Hannibal, touching his own hair.

"Why... Are you looking at my hair?" He asked, his voice soft, barely audible.

Hannibal nodded and reached forward, wrapping a curl around his finger before pulling away and grinning softly at Will. It was just as soft as he thought it would be.

Will frowned, smoothing down the curl that Hannibal had caused to bounce up with vigor. Almost immediately, he reached forward to touch Hannibal's hair, running his fingertips through the straw like texture before withdrawing.

"My hair is softer." He felt the need to announce, though only quietly.

Hannibal nodded meekly, touching his own hair to feel the difference. He scratched the back of his neck, pointing to Will's book and staring expectantly back at him.

Will pointed at the book, too. He turned his body, so that Hannibal could see the crude little cartoon strips.

"It's Moomin. My Granny bought it for my birthday last year. I like it." He explained somewhat stiffly.

"I see them at Thanksgiving. I always liked watching the cartoons that they have on tape."

Hannibal ran his fingers over the crisp, rather well-kept book, surprised that Will could apparently read. He read his native language, but just barely, and he was older than the brunette.

Hannibal leaned back to stare at Will again, waiting for more of a description of the book.

"Moomin... That's Moomintroll-" Will bent his finger over the small blobby creature in the book.

"-And he lives with his Moominmamma and Moominpappa. He's friends with Snufkin, t-that's Snufkin. Snufkin likes fishing. He plays the harmonica. Daddy says he's a hippie." He spoke with a subtle stammer, thoughts lacking any sort of order.

"And he's the Moomin's friend. He helps them. But mostly he smokes his pipe and fishes."

Hannibal nodded with understanding, pointing at Snufkin, then himself.

"You look like him." Will seemed to realize.

"You're too little to smoke a pipe. Though you're not that little." He hadn't caught on that Hannibal couldn't really understand him.

"Will?" His teacher, who had been watching the spectacle with almost glassy eyes, placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

"Your Daddy's here. Are you going to say goodbye to Hannibal?" She asked almost timidly, her heart aching for Will's gentle soul. Will stood, nodding, taking his book back. He almost looked upset, hesitating, setting the book next to the boy who was the only child to show an iota of interest in him for the longest time and turning to grab the teacher's hand, holding it as she lead him to get his coat, pack his schoolwork into his bookbag.

Will Graham's father took his son's hand, leading him to his car, which was filled to utter brimming with boxes of their very few belongings. The child was strapped into his car-seat, his hair ruffled, the door closed. He never did return to Doesmith Elementary. But, despite never telling anybody of Hannibal, he remained in the back of the child's mind, thought of fondly by him. As fondly as Will Graham was able to think about anything.

He settled into his new school just as well as he'd settled into his last, finding small amounts of solice in fishing with his father, silently, because they rarely did converse.

And when his father began to pack up their clothing for another move cross-country, an eight year old Will Graham found himself strangely optimistic.


	2. 8 & 10

Whenever Will moved schools, there was never a fuss made about his arrival. Like some sort of spirit, he'd be there one day, gone the next. Though he had started to take most lessons with the other kids, he still wasn't all that recognizable. He'd been set at the back of the classroom, staring at the stationary that his Grandmother had bought, made an effort to mail him. It was set neatly next to him. Ms. Sandsforth had made him feel very welcome when they'd given him a tour of the small school that morning, so he wasn't as nervous as he usually was, though he was making a real effort to keep himself to himself, hands firmly set in front of him.

The majoty of the class was gathered in a crowd near the front of the class.

Hannibal had turned ten the weekend before, and had brought cupcakes to celebrate. He was glad to be showing off his cooking skills - his foster mother was delighted that he had them at all - setting out the boxes and grinning at his work.

"Woah. Did your Mom make those, Hannibal?" A usually rather timid blonde girl asked. Hannibal shook his head, smiling proudly and pointing to himself. There was a chorus of impressed muttering.

The blond started handing them out, one for each child, an entire box left over after he'd given one to everyone gathered around him. His eyes traveled the room and landed on Will, Hannibal squinting for a moment before his mouth widened. He took a particularly nice cupcake and stepped over to the chair Will was in, extending his arm.

Will stared at the cake that had been pretty much shoved into his face, the child supressing a glare.

"No thanks, I'm not hungry-" Will began, looking up at Hannibal and falling hauntingly silent, blinking at the blond. He opened his mouth, closing it again a moment later after some debate.

"It's... You, isn't it?" Hannibal nodded slowly. He couldn't believe he had actually found Will again, his chest lighter somehow.

He still had the book, sitting on his bedside table because he had so few actual belongings to cherish. Hannibal offered the cupcake again. Will took it, though he wasn't particularly hungry.

"I... I hope you liked the book." He did miss it, but his father had forked out to buy him a smaller version, which he read often. The male averted his gaze.

The bell for recess rang, but Hannibal didn't budge, reaching out his hand and setting it atop the brown mop of. Curls on Will's head. He pulled the limb away, glancing over his shoulder to watch the other children scramble towards the door. They were quickly alone, save the teacher, who was lingering in the doorway waiting for them.

Hannibal licked his lips and leaned forward to press a kiss to Will's mouth before he bounced away, the teacher too shocked to do much of anything when her star student passed her.

Will's eyes had widened to ridiculous proportions. He stood so fast his chair fell behind him, Will pressing two tentative fingers to his lips, as if Hannibal had slapped him rather than kissed him. He was frozen, swaying subtly back and forth.

Hannibal had retreated to a small inlet, hidden under a stairwell and leaning against a heater. He had fully intended on kissing Will, but wasn't quite sure what had made him do so, touching his own lips and feeling the echo of Will's surprised response. After a moment of pointless blinking, Will broke into a run, disappearing down the stairwell and stopping once he reached the doorway that lead to the playground, because he knew Hannibal would not be there. He turned intently on his heels, scouring the unfamiliar hallway with a clinical, humorously adult-esque stare.

He could hear soft breathing, turning back towards the heater, an arm outstretched. Hannibal blinked up at Will from his shaded hiding spot, scooting over to offer the brunette a place next to him.

"Y-you kissed me." He mumbled, frowning.

"You're a boy. You're not supposed to kiss other boys." Hannibal looked silently pleased with himself for a moment, unmoving. He patted the space next to him again, and Will gritted his teeth.

"Answer my question, please." He muttered.

"Or can't you talk? I'm not gonna sit next to you unless you say something." He crossed his arms firmly.

Hannibal's smile fell, and he looked to the floor next to his feet, sniffling lamely. He was still so afraid of speaking, but was confident Will wouldn't hurt him if he did.

"I think you're pretty, in a way girls can't be." He explained, voice smooth, measured, soft.

Will furrowed his brow. He stepped forward, pressing his palm to the wall but stopping abruptly.

"Your voice sounds weird." He noticed, shifting his foot along the floor.

"I don't like talking." Hannibal responded.

"I used to get hurt for talking. If a grown up hears me, I might hurt again."

"Uh... Grown-ups don't hurt people in schools for speaking. You used to get detention if you spoke during morning prayers at my old school, but they never hurt you." Will sat himself next to Hannibal, immediately empathising with him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be nasty to you." He attempted to smile, but it just made him look unwell.

Hannibal was charmed by Will's attempt at a normal person expression. He had mastered them out of necessity, but Will seemed incapable. He was so much less human than his peers, Hannibal not feeling disgust or abhorrence in his presence.

"I'm Hannibal." He changed the subject.

"My sister used to call me Hanni. You can, if you like."

"I think I'll call you Hannibal." Will replied, staring at the wall opposite them. Hannibal's gaze was far too intense. He never much liked eyes, anyway.

"I'm Will. My Grandma calls me Wilma. I don't want you to call me that."

Hannibal looked Will over as he spoke, taking in the tight ball of a fist, the troubled expression, the bags under his eyes.

"Why are you so afraid?"

"I'm not afraid." Will almost sounded offended. At any rate, he was lying, the child looking away.

"You see things differently than most people, you know things. Me... me too. I can see what people feel, on their faces." Hannibal started. Will fell somewhat silent.

"I... I can see things how other people see them. If something goes missing, I can work out who took it, and why." Will admitted after a moment.

"An overactive imagination. That's what it's called. I'm usually right, though."

"It's not, though. If it was imagination, then you wouldn't be right." Hannibal responded easily.

"We're both special, and nobody can see it."

"They know I'm special." Will said almost simply.

"They put me on a bus with lots of other special kids, ages ago. I'm better now." Hannibal frowned. Will didn't understand the the people they were surrounded by were just that, people, when they were gods, that they were so much higher, better, more deserving. He supposed they couldn't share every experience.

"Can I kiss you again?"

"Why do you want to kiss me?" Will asked, defensively. Hannibal pondered for a moment, looking away.

"Because you're... interesting." It was a compliment he hoped Will would understand, turning to look at him again, catching eye contact and shifting the hand he was supporting himself with closer to Will's. Will leaned forward, what little childish curiosity he had preserved driving him forward.

"... I'm... O-okay..." He responded, voice a mere whisper. It was almost, just the slightest bit exciting.

Hannibal pressed their lips together, running a hand through Will's hair as he tilted his head, their lips pressed tightly together. He pulled away after a moment, watching Will carefully.

Will's face has subtly reddened, but other than his flush, he seemed unchanged.

"That was... A little weird." He admitted softly.

"Grown ups do that a lot. I don't get it. I just feel kinda warm, now." Hannibal leaned against the warm metal behind him, smiling and blushing himself.

"Grown ups use their tongues sometimes. I think that's gross." He admitted half-heartedly, setting his hand on top of Will's and squeezing it.

"That's really gross." Will replied with a distasteful frown. Though he flinched at the contact between him and Hannibal, he relaxed moments later.

"Grown ups are weird." The younger child smiled a little to himself.

"We... we should never grow up. Me and you, smart forever." Hannibal sounded more like a child than he probably ever had.

"I... don't ever want to grow up."

"I do." Will admitted.

"I want to get a job. Stay in one place. My Dad moves around a lot. I don't like it." He stared at his hands.

"Why don't you wanna grow up?"

"I hate grownups." Hannibal said, sounding more disgusted than angry.

"They break everything they touch because they're selfish and destructive."

"Not all grown ups. Just the bad ones." Will hummed to himself.

"My... My Grandma says that there are bad people, and there are good people. The good people often outnumber the bad people, she says. I don't know if I believe her."

"Why are kids never bad like adults? Growing up makes you evil, I can already feel it happening to me." Hannibal sounded pained.

"I'm moving. You... just moved here, and the adults are taking me away. I guess that's why I wanted to kiss you, so... so we wouldn't leave on bad terms." Hannibal stood.

"I'll try to find you again, when I'm big enough to." He offered Will his hand for the third time that day.

Will's heart sank, though he wasn't sure why. He took the offered hand, clinging to the extremity for a moment, before letting go, letting his hand fall to his side. Hannibal brushed his hand over Will's cheek, over to his neck, a thumb working through satin brown. He leaned forward for another kiss, this one chaste and quick.

"Try to find me, too."

"I will." Will nodded, embarrased, but firm.

"Goodbye, Hannibal." He stood up, too, the bell ringing, signaling the end of recess.

Hannibal felt burn at the back of his eyes, turning and jogging away. He couldn't bare to think too much about having to leave Will.


	3. 14 & 15 (I)

Hannibal stayed late after Art class. He didn't have a proper last period class, just drawing III then study hall. He was an eighth grader even though he was too old, something that had never been a problem for him - he was rarely in the same classes with what his foster parents considered his peers.

"Hannibal? Do you think you could keep an eye on the class while I run down to the office?" The teacher asked with a chuckle. It was only the blond and the teacher, Hannibal very busy mixing the perfect shade of pink for the carnation he was painting, next to an antler he had found in his own backyard, over a sheet of royal blue.

"They're animals." Johnny seemed to carefully inform a fourteen year old Will Graham, who was struggling to breathe properly.

"Animals are more civilized." Will panted after a moment, holding his forehead to his arm.

"That... A sarcastic comment doesn't warrant a lynching." The lankier male seemed to jolt as he heard somebody round the corner, breathing a sigh of relief when a teacher appeared.

"Stupid people are threatened by large vocabularies. Big words, Johnny. They're terrifying to the uneducated." Will grimaced, straightening his glasses and zipping his army green coat up.

"Does she always just sit there? G-God, that's a Hell of a lot of blood. You... Should probably see the nurse..." Johnny stared at the blood that had dripped down Will's throat, his chin a bloodied mess.

"I'm fine." Will dismissed, making for the Art classroom.

"She didn't have tea in her thermos, let's leave it at that." Will mustered an almost insincere bloodied smile, turning to the teenager he'd created quite the bond with over the course of the month. The bushy haired male was the new kid, somebody Will could instantly relate to. Social outcasts by nature, Johnny and Will had subtle things in common. Johnny was a little more human, of course, a little less detached than Will, but they fished, came from similar backgrounds. It was eery. But Will was happy to have a friendly person to talk to. It was also rather nice to not be the new kid, for once. Circumstances would change, undoubtedly in the near future, but he had a little time, a little time with a friend to boot. He a Will pushed the door open. When he didn't see the teacher at her desk, he immediately marched past the figure quietly painting, making for the massive sink set behind him and running it, paper towels grabbed from the dispenser. He scrubbed pitifully at his sweater.

"This worked out perfectly, in hindsight. I need to grab my art folder." Johnny called from the doorway. Hannibal's lone presence made him almost uncomfortable.

"You do that." Will dismissed, scrubbing ridiculously hard.

Hannibal was stuck staring at the back of Will's head. He turned to watch Johnny as he left to get to class before the tardy bell, then back at Will.

"Who did this?" Hannibal's voice was soft and low and trembling with suppressed rage. He saw blood, and didn't even care that Will Graham was with him again. He hadn't realized how strange it was that they kept meeting each other, too engrossed in somewhat-jealous rage to question it.

Will was scrubbing at the blood that had settled on his hands, a particularly persistent blotch on his palm that wasn't willing to budge. He hadn't noticed Hannibal. He rarely noticed anybody.

"I don't think that's any of your business." The teen responded blankly, holding the paper towel to his chin and looking around. His gaze softened when he spotted Hannibal, and he rubbed his forehead, wondering if he'd been punched a little harder than he was aware of. Hannibal grabbed his own paper towel and dampened it with warm water, approaching Will and carefully wiping blood from his features.

"You've grown." He commented, running the towelette over Will's bottom lip, down his throat, to his shirt.

"T-that... Puberty tends to do that." Hannibal towered over Will, who suddenly hoped he still had a bit of growing to do. Will stared at his hands, flicking the spot of blood on his hand to little avail.

"You're kind of tall for a fourteen year old."

"I'm fifteen." Hannibal corrected, taking Will's hand and wiping the spot of blood that he couldn't actually see away. He was familiar enough with hallucinations and figured it would be less trouble than pointing out the discrepancy.

"Who did this?" He asked again.

"A lovely guy who made some colorful comments on the tender subject mother." Will responded in a deadpan.

"He's an idiot. It's not worth going into."

"Who?" Hannibal's voice was momentarily sharp, the blond forcing Will to face him.

"He hurt you. I have a duty."

"You are a boy who forced kisses out of me when I was eight years old. You don't owe me anything." Will responded, fighting back some sharpness in his voice.

"Actually, I lie. You owe me $15 for that book." He glowered at the floor.

"Would you rather just have the book back?" Hannibal was right back to his calm tone, returning to his canvas and mixing more white into his pink.

"It's next to my bed, on my desk."

"It's a children's book. I'm not a child. So no." Will said simply, leaning on the sink.

"I wouldn't have given it to you if I'd have wanted it back. I didn't really count on running into the person who took it two consecutive times throughout my childhood." He glowered at his boots, laces undone.

"I bet you never even read it." Hannibal stepped forward, a hand on Will's chin, tilting his face upwards.

"I used to pretend I was Snufkin, and that I was going to find your favorite shoe in the river when I went fishing." Hannibal recited the plot of one of the stories in the large book.

"And your dad would thank me with milk and cookies, and we'd sit together, and you'd be wearing those shoes." He smiled, leaning in for a kiss. Will pushed Hannibal away from him.

"You're not a lovable vagabond. And I doubt you play the harmonica." He stood, pulling his bag further up his arm.

"I seemed to recall you being far more... Whimsical. I'm kinda disappointed." Hannibal frowned.

'I'll kill your friends if you don't love me.' He wanted to say. He wanted to warn Will that he was his and only his, that his happiness depended on Hannibal's presence, but he couldn't.

"Just give me a name." He said instead.

"At least give me that much. It's not about you, it's about the pig who hurt the only person I've ever respected." Will glared at Hannibal, his upper lip stuff.

"Dylan Wilson." He responded, crossing his arms around his bag.

"His name is Dylan Wilson. Happy?" He asked, tone utterly rude, turning on his heel to leave. Hannibal was, but he didn't say anything, going back to his canvas and setting the paint onto it, content with the color he had mixed.

Hannibal found Dylan in the parking lot after basketball practice. He stood near his car with a switchblade in hand until the burly jock came striding out of the building with a cheerleader on his arm, stabbing his tire as soon as he was in the raven-haired teen's view. Hannibal let Dylan think he had won the fight - he had blocked every blow to his stomach subtly with his hand - and was rolling around on the ground, defeated, when the cheerleader stormed off, disgusted with Dylan's behavior. The jock drove away. He drove off the side of a cliff because he couldn't slow down in time to turn properly. Hannibal had cut his brake lines.


	4. 14 & 15 (II)

The school was closed the following day. The death of a student, a seemingly tragic accident, was top story news for the tight-knit community. Will didn't really understand what had happened. His father had called him downstairs that morning and informed him bluntly of Dylan's death, the closure of the school. Will was still immensely dizzy when he woke up, the weight of Dylan's demise not really hitting him. He chose call Johnny from his home phone after a good half-hour of considering, which barely worked, planning to meet the male near the docks, so the two of them could fish. Or, rather, Will would fish, and Johnny would talk to him. Will didn't usually like mindless chatter, but Johnny's drawl was oddly calming. He left his home with his fishing rod over his shoulder, a battered, rusted bucket clasped in his fist.

Johnny was already at the docks. He had woken up early because he had the day off, and he was sure his sleep schedule was spiting him. The lankly male was wearing cargo pants and a wifebeater that didn't suit his frame in the slightest, swinging his legs from the dock as he waited for his friend.

He was curious to know if Will was responsible for Dylan's death. Neither of them had liked him very much, but he hardly thought he deserved death. There were plenty of rumors about Will Graham, most of them terrible and involving a male teacher, but he had also apparently almost beaten someone to death at his last school. There was little substance to the dozens of unpleasant claims that revolved around Will, but Dylan's death was much too suspicious to not ask his best friend.

"Morning." Will said bracingly, spotting Johnny from afar. He was glad to see his friend, one of the few people he was willing to consider a friend.

"This is a change of pace." He remarked softly, sitting himself at the edge of the dock.

"That shirt is awful." He commented after a moment, in a bid to make conversation.

"I threw it on." Johnny defended, casting a dull, brown-eyed glance Will's way.

"Like yours is any better." He pointed at his classmate's plaid shirt. Will fought back a smile

"So... Dylan, huh?"

"Dylan." Will sounded grim.

"My Dad told me that they'd found somebody from school dead, that we didn't have to go in. They think it's suspicious." Will swallowed, adjusting the white bandage that his father had stiffly applied to his battered chin the previous evening.

"I think it's suspicious. They're interviewing people, so I guess they're serious."

"It wasn't you, was it? You know I'd be there for you either way, but I've got to know." Johnny whispered.

"I don't have it in me to kill anybody." Will seemed quick to point out, the accusation making his palms clammy, his head sting.

"Thanks. I really needed that. Everybody at school is going to think I killed him, aren't they? It wasn't me, I was..." Will gnawed on his bottom lip. He remembered very little of what had happened after his meeting with Hannibal the previous day.

"No. Three people saw that spat between you two. And I didn't accuse, I asked." Johnny looked out over the water, watching Will as he adjusted his lure and reeled out his fishing rod. It was quite the fascinating process.

"Besides, Dylan was a... Well, a total douchebag. I know a few people who really are glad he's dead."

"He was a douchebag." Will agreed hoarsely.

"But did he deserve to have his breaks cut?" He blinked at the body of water in front of the two of them, falling silent.

"Who said anything about his brakes being cut?" Hannibal asked, Johnny practically jumping out of his skin and snapping his gaze over to the teen standing behind them, who was dressed in a thick winter coat, an almost bemused expression on his bruised face.

"G-God..." Johnny pressed his hand to his chest, swallowing as be turned to look at Hannibal. Will kept his eyes forward.

"Hey, you're the guy who was in the Art room yesterday." He sounded surprised. Hannibal remained silent, staring at the back of Will's head.

"It's obvious. Unless the person who killed Dylan tossed a cow into the road before he drove from a cliffside."

"If he hadn't been speeding, he would have made that turn." Hannibal said, Johnny squinting at him.

"You?!" He backed up a step, and Hannibal followed with a step of his own, startling Will's friend. He fell backwards off the dock, hitting the water with a splash. Hannibal turned to Will again as Johnny began wading back to shore. His phone was out of commission, though, Hannibal knew.

"Of course not." Hannibal called down to Johnny, feigning a smile and offering the male his hand once he had managed to make it to the ladder set by the dock. Will exhaled shakily. He set his fishing rod to one side, standing.

"You shouldn't say things like that." The brunette stared blankly at Hannibal, his face, avoiding his eyes.

"People might get the wrong idea." Johnny, soaked to the bone, spluttered as he exited the freezing water.

"Dylan... Was a bully. Nothing more, nothing less. He would've made a good soldier, a good coach."

"He wasn't a person, Will. People enrich the environment they're in. Pigs squeal and roll in their own waste." Hannibal turned away and slid his hands into his pockets. He ran his thumb over the switchblade he found there.

"I think both you and I know that Irene Lawson is a perfect example of his cruelty, Will." With a small wave, Hannibal made to leave, bowing his head and fighting back a self-satisfied smirk.

"He broke my phone. My Mom is going to kill me." A damp Johnny grumbled. Will clenched his fists, making to call after Hannibal, but stopping. He turned to face Johnny.

"Put it in rice." He muttered, turning to face Johnny, who was silent.

"Are we turning him in?" Johnny asked, knowing they had nothing on him. Hannibal didn't seem worried.

Will stared after Hannibal's retreating figure.

"You think he did it?" He hadn't really considered it.

"I don't think he didn't do it." Johnny replied, watching the blond himself. Will let out a sharp breath, clenching his fist yet again and looking at his feet.

"Irene Lawson will be charged with the murder of Dylan Wilson. I doubt she did it. But that won't matter." Will stared clinically at his hands.

"Huh? Irene? That ninth grader? I heard that Dylan-" Will cut Johnny off with a nod.

"I am... So lost." He muttered, shaking his head.

"What do you think we should do?"

"We can report Hannibal, if you suspect him. I doubt it'd do much. The crime has worked itself out; and I'm assuming that the police won't care much for us giving them more work. At the very least, it might protect Irene from the finger of suspicion." He turned to face Johnny, swallowing.

"We should tell them about him. A-at least. Irene doesn't deserve to face this unopposed. I would feel better if he was at least investigated." Johnny admitted.

"Since my phone's... fucking... c'mon." He started towards the police station.

"I'm sure they'll believe two eight graders with a beef against the guy who died." Will slung his fishing rod over his shoulder, making to follow Johnny.

"It's better than just not doing anything." Johnny assured.

"We have two options. That's the more moral of the two."

When they arrived at the police station, which was buzzing with an unusual amount of activity for such a small town, they were put with the rest of the teenagers who had come in to make comments on Dylan's death. Irene was there, her matted black hair hanging over her face, pale features torn between joy and terror. Johnny felt terrible for her.

Will looked at Irene, his gaze heavy and unmoving. He felt guilty, bile building in his throat. The receptionist sorting through the papers offered the two bemused glances.

"You're here about the boy? Did you see your teacher wander off from a lesson around the time he left school, or are you positive that slightly creepy girl you sit next to in Math class had something to do with his death?" She asked, top lip stiff.

"No, we..." Johnny swallowed.

"He's... this guy who's older than us but in our grade, uh... We think he might've had something to do with it." The officer blinked at Johnny, sighing after a moment.

"Sit down, I'll make sure somebody can see you as soon as I possibly can." Will made his way over to a spare seat at this, his mind aching. He waited for Johnny, a few eyes setting on him.

"There he is, dude!" A jock nudged his friend, pointing at Will for no apparent reason. The friend started at the sight of Will, though he quickly found himself leaning forward, an almost snide smirk on his face.

"Dylan was right about you. You're insane." He said simply.

"And now he's dead. You killed him, right? Like you killed that chick." His smile widened, as Will's very grasp on reality seemed to tumble to the ground, his eyes widening in horror. Johnny looked uncomfortable.

"The whore they found in the field. I heard some of her organs were missing. What'd you do with them?" The male's companion asked.

"Did you sell them on the black market?" Johnny gritted his teeth, standing and moving to a different set of chairs, beckoning Will over.

"Nah, dude. Y'know what he probably did with them?" The other jock's smile widened slightly. Will was frozen, forced to confront the terrifying abuse.

"Ate them. I know your Dad isn't exactly the richest guy in the world, but Jesus, Graham, eating whores?"

"Shut up." Johnny grumbled from halfway across the room.

"Did you cook them first, or did you just eat them raw?" The taller of the jocks asked, giggling to himself.

"I bet he ate her heart raw like an animal." Johnny stood and clenched his fists.

"Shut up."

"He probably fried her up." One of the jock's sniggered, ignoring Johnny. Will stood abruptly, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he could feel it in his mouth. He rather suddenly fled, running as fast as his legs were able to move.

While the brunette was vaguely aware of Johnny following him, the footsteps behind him became less and less audible the farther he found himself. When he stopped to vomit on the outskirts of some woodland in town, almost collapsing from the terror that had filled his fragile form, he was alone. And, for a moment, he was glad for it. He didn't want anybody to see him break again, which he did, silent tears rolling down his face.

Memories that his father had sacrificed booze money to prevent Will from experiencing again had come flooding back, summer heat, the sticky rot of death.

Hannibal wasn't sure why Will was in his yard. He watched Will lose the contents of his stomach, watched him sob brokenly. He took a bite of the meal set in front of him, chewing slowly before he stood and went to the door.

"Will?" Hannibal asked from his front door.

"Would you like some hot chocolate?" Will looked Hannibal dead in the eye, something he usually avoided like some sort of plague. He opened his mouth to speak, stopping abruptly when he lost conciousness, strings neatly snipped from a puppet. Will fell to the ground, losing conciousness.

Hannibal blinked at Will before he stepped down the stairs, grabbing the brunette and taking him inside. He set him in his bed, cleaned his mouth, tucked him in and set his shoes and glasses to one side. He brought his meal, along with a glass of water for Will when he awoke, eating leasurely as he watched his oldest friend doze less than peacefully from his desk.


	5. 14 & 15 (III)

[A/N: Warning for teen smut and manipulative Hannibal. And manipulated Will. Manipulated Will deserves his own warning.]

Will woke up in a cold, sweaty haze. His shoes were missing, as were his glasses, and he was warm and cozy, yet he felt profoundly uncomfortable. He grunted, sitting up, hand glued to his forehead. Hannibal had taken the plate to the sink and gone back to his desk to try and draw Will's pursed lips and pained features as he slept. He set his sketchbook aside when Will sat up, though.

"Are you alright?"

"I... I don't know." Will admitted. He was soaked in sweat, and he felt disgusting.

"I don't even remember..." He shivered, realizing he was feverish.

"I'm afraid they'll detain you if I take you to the hospital." Hannibal said.

"Should I? I can probably treat you." He offered Will the water.

"If you don't want to risk the hospital. I'll hide you. You... did it, didn't you?"

"I... I didn't." Will croaked, head in his hands.

"I wouldn't... I've been bullied mercilessly throughout my life. Dylan punched me, h-he wasn't nearly as bad..." He grunted.

"I didn't do it. I didn't do it..."

"You had a talk with Irene, didn't you? I saw you in the hallway with her, she told you something, and you stormed out." Hannibal sat on the edge of the bed, holding Will's head to his chest.

"What did she tell you, Will?" He was lying.

Will, for the first time in his life, felt glad for the comfort of another human being. He was close to non-hysteric tears, not willing to embarrass himself in front of somebody so proper as Hannibal.

"I... I don't know. I don't remember."

"Will, this is important. She told you a secret, try to remember. Her secret, about Dylan." Hannibal muttered, running his fingers through his hair properly, for the first time.

"What did she tell you?"

Will closed his eyes, trying to remember. Irene's worn features, her slumped posture, her knotted hair, a person who had lost utter hope.

"S-she... She told me that Dylan raped her. That, t-though her mother took her to the hospital, and she was... That she had to drop the charges. Dylan was going to join the army, she'd ruin his life..."

"That didn't seem fair, did it? Who can blame you for cutting his brake line?" Hannibal tried.

"It's okay. They'll think she did it, you probably won't be a suspect for very long when they discover that."

"I don't remember doing it. I-I didn't do it." Will croaked.

"I didn't kill anybody, Hannibal. Please believe me."

"I don't think any less of you, Will. He was a monster, you did a very good thing." Hannibal rubbed at Will's back.

"He wasn't a person. He was a pig." He repeated.

Will pressed his face to Hannibal's chest. He was warm, smelled soft and loving, and for the first time since he was eight years old, he was genuinely comforted, the teen letting his eyes close.

Hannibal slowly moved onto his back, pulling Will over him and sighing contentedly.

"If you fall asleep, it's alright." He heard the door downstairs open with a creak and shut lightly; his parents must have been home.

"I'll keep you safe."

"Please..." Will was trembling, but Hannibal made him feel better, eased his shaking tenfold.

"I'm sorry..." He breathed, allowing himself to close his eyes, though he doubted he'd be able to sleep.

"I forgive you." Hannibal assured softly.

"It's alright, you weren't yourself, but nothing will come of it, you'll see. Frankly, Irene will be better off in the system, compared to with her mother." That bit of information had helped him choose the person to frame.

"And she won't be given too much time, with the case they'll have built against him. It's alright, don't worry. I'll protect you."

"I... I can't let her be charged. It wouldn't be fair, I'd... I'd ruin her life." Will made to sit up.

"I need to confess. People are gonna tell them that I did it, anyway..." He brought Hannibal up with him, trembling.

"Will, don't do that." Hannibal wrapped his arms around Will's waist.

"She's in an emotionally abusive home, has no self-worth. She'd be nothing anyway. We're giving her structure, proper support, a will to fight." He explained.

"And I need you, Will. I need you here, to do good in the world. You have such a capacity for greatness." Will budged away from Hannibal, paling.

"I'm leaving. Three weeks. We're moving away. I've been here for almost a year..." He looked utterly worn.

"I can never catch you..."

"You don't have to. I'll find you." Hannibal pulled Will back to him and kissed the space under his jaw.

"And when you're on your own, you won't have to move." He planted another one below Will's Adam's apple.

"You should have a bath." He suggested. Will's clothing was dampened with sweat.

"That'd be nice..." Will was still covered in sweat, which had slicked his hair up and forced his clothes to stick to his moist flesh. Hannibal slid off of the bed and guided Will to his feet, leading him to the bathroom.

"Can I join you?" It was probably a long shot.

"It's... Your shower." Will stared at his hands.

"Are you... Don't take this the wrong way, but... Are you attracted to me?"

"Yes, I think so. I've never been attracted to someone other than you, so I really have nothing to compare it to." Hannibal started on the buttons of Will's red flannel shirt, speaking in a tone that was much too casual for his words.

"Does that bother you?"

"I'm not sure." Will admitted, face reading as Hannibal worked on undressing him.

"I don't think about... Love and... Stuff, all that much." He stared at the blurry outline of Hannibal's face.

"You're the only person that I've ever kissed." He felt the need to point out.

"I'll stop if you tell me to." Hannibal offered, inching the shirt down Will's arms, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a crumpled heap.

"Then you can decide if you're attracted to me." He pulled the sweater vest he was wearing over his head.

Will didn't really understand attraction. He thought some girls pretty, even some boys pretty, but they were usually pretty because of the subtle nusenses of their faces, and not the curvature of their bodies. Yet Hannibal, who was immensely well built, offered Will an almost simple answer to the true meaning of attraction.

He wasn't quite sure how to broach his attraction, but somehow knew Hannibal would realize, a subtle intake of breath on Will's behalf, the reddening of his face and firmness of his blurred gaze. Hannibal went to the shower, turning the water on and listening to it hiss for a moment before standing straight again.

He was almost afraid to undo his pants, not wanting to feel exposed. He was never comfortable with feeling naked, literal or not. He turned to Will, bringing him forward by his hand and working on the button to the brunette's pants instead.

"I-I can do that myself..." Will stammered, pushing Hannibal's hand away. His head hurt.

Hannibal set his hands on Will's shoulders instead, trying to anchor him with gentle contact.

"Will, relax. There's no rush, no pressure." He tried, finding the courage to worm out of his khakis.

Will turned to fumble with the front of his own pants, pushing them down, the fabric resting at his ankles. Carefully, he stepped out of them, swallowing thickly and staring at Hannibal's almost bare form.

Hannibal tested the water, kicking off his drawers and climbing into the tub. He bit his lip, watching as Will followed, making a great deal of effort to hesitantly conceal his modesty as he clambered into the tub. The water was warm, as opposed to the lukewarm Will was used to. He pulled his knees to his chest, pressing his cheeks to them and averting his gaze. Hannibal knelt before Will, pushing his legs open and trying for eye contact. He waited for a moment before pointedly letting his eyes wander.

"You're lovely. Even more beautiful than I imagined." He kissed Will's forehead.

"Thank you." Will reached forward, dragging a tentative finger down Hannibal's chest, a scar that lingered there.

Hannibal's features softened when he was touched in exchange, the hot patter of water on his back relieving somehow. He could feel the pooling warmth in the bottom of his stomach, the feeling he got when he had butchered the prostitute months before, taken out her organs carefully.

"I'm afraid of going too far.." Hannibal admitted.

"As am I." Will concurred, though he knew it was probably worse for Hannibal.

"Do you want to kiss me?" He asked, averting his gaze again.

Hannibal caught Will in a kiss, managing his way between Will's legs and rutting slowly forward.

"Will you get in trouble if I leave marks?" He asked suddenly, trailing down to Will's neck and biting lightly. Will shook his head.

"My Dad doesn't... Care..." He responded through bated breath.

Hannibal lifted Will's legs over his arms and sucked a bruise into his neck.

"Use your hand on both of us." He suggested breathlessly, and Will nodded. He almost looked unwell, biting back apprehension at the thought of losing some part of his physical purity, not to mention touching Hannibal intimately.

He took his own member into a delicate grasp, and then Hannibal's, the brunette failing to suppress an almost nervous hum that rumbled in his throat. A shiver wracked through him at the sensation that shot down his spine, immensely foreign.

Hannibal let out a strained breath, kissing at the mark he had left.

"I w-won't have you today, don't worry." He tried to assure, rocking into Will's grasp, against the brunette's arousal.

Will nodded, panting softly. Touching himself was quite different than touching somebody else, and he was nervous, the tentative pumping of his hand careful and slow. Nevertheless, he kept at it, letting the pleasent, indescribable warmth spread through his every pore, pool in the bottom of his abdomen, Will allowing himself to grunt and moan as he neared the edge. His hand was caressing, more than outright pumping, as he got the hang of his motions. Hannibal moved to the other side of Will's neck, biting down, though it wasn't hard enough to leave a proper mark that time.

He pulled back and took a finger into his mouth, rolling his tongie over it.

"Let me feel you from the inside, Will, just one finger." Hannibal pleaded in a somhow-level tone, guiding his hand below where their flushed skin met. Will let out a shaky breath, nodding.

"Something tells me that might hurt a little..." He rasped, pulling his hand away from his and Hannibal's arousals, though he still brushed them together, the sensation too good to deny himself.

"I-if you're careful."

"It only hurts if you're tense." Hannibal pressed the digit past the tight, untouched ring of muscle, slow and gentle. He slid down, flicking his tongue out over the head of Will's member, tasting salt and soap and the clean sweet of water.

Will tilted his head back, a whine slipping past his lips. His body was pure heat, and he could feel every inch of his skin flushing. His legs fell against Hannibal's side, Will struggling to keep his body upright.

Hannibal searched with his finger, pressing along the velvet of Will's enterance and listening for his response. He could taste a sudden increase in salty, taking the head of Will's arousal into his mouth completely to guide the teen through his orgasm.

Will's eyes fluttered closed and his breathing increased in heaviness. The brunette allowed himself to simply feel, anxieties gone from his mind, if only temporarily. With a strained cry, little warning, and the rhythmic twitching of his entire form, Will reached his climax.

Hannibal sputtered, surprised, though he pulled up, the water washing the white from where it had fallen to his chin as he stroked himself. He reached the edge after a moment, eyes locked on the panting form before him. Will trembled, resting his palms flat on Hannibal's back, his face buried in his shoulder.

"So... are you attracted to me?" Hannibal asked, gingerly pulling away and sitting on his heels. He turned the water off then leaned over on Will again, arms worming around his torso. Will nodded feebly, panting for breath.

"I'm... Going to say yes." Will almost chuckled.


	6. 14 & 15 (IV)

[A/N: There is violent death and non-con elements in this. Be warned.]

Hannibal found an empty table in the cafeteria, setting his lunchbox before him and unzipping it. He took everything out, his thermos at his right, his silverware set on top of a red cloth napkin at his left. He'd made a sandwich that morning with prostitute liver, sliced fine and paired with a pomegranate aeoli.

Johnny was utterly lonesome without Will to eat with. The brunette had arrived at school in a better mood than usual, but that had quite quickly disappeared, the absence of Irene Lawrence and accusatory glares he recieved from other students making him retreat to the councillor's office not long after morning assembly. Will had yet to return.

With a packed lunch his mother had made him, simple ham and tomato chutney sandwiches and a tiny can of soda, Johnny resigned to sit alone, until he spotted Hannibal. The blond was no social butterfly, but he was curious.

The teen sat across from Hannibal, fussing with his mane of hair for a moment.

"I hope you don't mind if I sit here." He looked Hannibal dead in the eyes, reading him. Hannibal offered Johnny a small smile.

"Not at all." He assured, taking a bite of his sandwich and washing it down with hot tea.

"Where is Will? I haven't seen him today." He was genuinely worried

"He's in school. Had a bit of a breakdown, just before first period. I think he's spending the day in Ms. Johnson's office." Johnny extracted his own lunch, falling oddly silent.

"Everybody thinks he... Even though they arrested Irene. Will is a lot of things, but he's not that petty."

"That's very unfortunate. Why does everyone think this?" Hannibal shook his head and tried to look pleadingly at Johnny.

"Will doesn't deserve any of this..."

"People are scared of him, I think." Johnny admitted.

"He'd got a good heart. You wouldn't know that unless you spoke to him, though. And... Most people don't. They just see him as..." He shook his head, picking at his food.

"We went to the police station yesterday, and... A few of those Jock's said something about him killing somebody."

"Someone other than Dylan?" Hannibal asked. "Who?"

"A woman, I think. From what I've heard, she was found in a field. By Will. Missing all sorts of organs." Johnny looked sickened. Hannibal's eyebrows knitted together on his forehead.

"He found her? When did that happen?" He was stuck imagining Will coming across his work, the brunette's eyes wide and bile in his throat. He had to shift in his spot because his pants were suddenly uncomfortably tight.

"A few months ago? I'm not entirely sure. There was a string of them, if I remember rightly." Johnny shrugged.

"I'm not sure how he kept going. And now... This. I'm almost scared for him."

"He's resilient. And he's leaving soon, anyway." Hannibal took another bite of his sandwich and smiled as he chewed. The meat was sweeter now he knew that Will had seen his work.

"I'll miss him dearly..."

"So will I. I've never met anybody like Will Graham before. He's..." Johnny mustered a smile.

"He's got such a beautiful mind." Hannibal frowned. Will was his, and Johnny was much too attached, knowledgable of a side of Will he thought only he should see.

"I'll see him again. Maybe you will, too."

"I'd like to keep in touch with him." Johnny admitted.

"He's the first person... I dunno. I hope life treats him well, whatever happens." Will moving away was a thought that utterly nauseated Johnny, and Hannibal could see it.

"Are you romantically interested in Will?" He asked, unable to hide the hint of dark rage from biting at the edges of his words.

Johnny would have usually seen right through Hannibal's facade, pulled apart the rage glistening in his eyes. He was far too caught up in himself, though, staring at the table below him.

"I... I guess. It's hard to think about him like that. He's Will, and Will is... I'm not sure if my feelings for him are brotherly, or something more. I'm leaning towards the latter."

"I fucked him yesterday." Hannibal voiced, mostly out of spite.

"He pined and begged. It was glorious." Johnny's gaze glistened over, and he looked as though he was fighting back tears.

"Oh. I didn't realize you two were together." Hannibal's smile was full of malice.

"He's mine. Stay away from him." It was a threat.

"Will's my friend. I'm Will's friend." Johnny defended almost sharply. Anger didn't fit well with his smooth tone.

"Not anymore." Hannibal finished his sandwich and packed his things away, standing.

"He likes you too much."

Johnny looked utterly broken. He didn't make to stand, and Hannibal stopped, turning towards the other male.

"You must really like him." He didn't feel bad for Johnny, but he did understand.

"I do." Johnny nodded. He smiled weakly, staring blankly in front of him.

"You'll always come before me. You're... His stalker. He told me about you. The boy who fate pulled from state to state." Hannibal didn't like that Will had divulged his secret to Johnny. He was secretly hurt that he had, stepping forward and sliding back into his seat.

"I think I'll have to reconsider. Would you like to take a walk so we can talk this through?" Johnny considered, standing abruptly and placing his lunch back into his bag.

"Okay..." He agreed, slipping his hands into his jacket.

"Will likes you, too." He said.

"I don't want him loving anyone else, but... that's selfish of me." He started towards the door. Johnny perked up.

"Will likes me? Did he tell you?" He fought back a smile.

"He did. He admitted that he was very glad he had met you, and that you were his first real friend." Hannibal lied.

"And I'm very jealous."

"You're jealous that he likes me as a friend?" Johnny asked with a slight frown. He hadn't been expecting Hannibal to say something like that.

"You must be a hard guy to be friends with..."

"Will is different. I'm different." Hannibal explained shortly.

They were outside the school grounds, Hannibal guiding Johnny towards his own home, who bowed his head, following Hannibal in relative silence for a few moments. He found himself stopping a while later, once they hit woodland. The school wasn't exactly far away, but Johnny was still eager not to go too far.

"Lunch will be over soon." He felt the need to remind Hannibal.

"If we make it back soon, maybe we can talk to Will about this..."

"Will won't know what to do." Hannibal turned to stare Johnny down for a moment.

"The decision will be painful for him." He stepped forward.

"I don't want him to suffer." He slid his hand into his pocket and stopped.

"Who killed Thomas?"

"Well, Irene Lawson, officially." Johnny replied begrugingly.

"I... I didn't see Will that evening. Not like I'm saying he had anything to do with it..."

"It wasn't Will." Hannibal smiled and looked aroung at the desolation of the street they were on.

"No, Will is a good person. He would never." The blond let his eyes travel up to Johnny again, pulling back his mask in the hopes that he would be seen, that Johnny would know before he was exstinguished.

Johnny glanced at Hannibal, gazing through the mask, the monster underneath clear for him to see.

"I... I knew it..." Johnny staggered backwards.

"I-it was you..." Hannibal took out his knife and grabbed Johnny by his hair, dragging him into the trees and shoving him to the ground.

"I lied when I said I would reconsider. Will is all mine, Johnny. He can't be dedicated to anyone else." He held Johnny's thin wrists over his head with one hand and searched his pockets.

Johnny let out a ragged, firm cry, raising his feet to kick Hannibal firmly in the stomach.

"Let go of me! I won't tell anyone, I-I'll stay away from Will!" He sobbed. Hannibal easily managed his way between Johnny's legs, pinning him with his body weight. He found a harmonica in Johnny's pocket, grinning to himself.

"You look like Will. Amelia looked like will when I cut her hair and held her face into the dirt. I couldn't kill Dylan like that, though. He was ugly." Hannibal held Johnny's nose so he could shove the instrument down his throat, rocking forward to sate the arousal trapped in his khanis, against Johnny's stomach. Every utterly agonised scream that tore from Johnny's throat was punctuated with the long hum of a harmonica, until Johnny began to cough, splutter, choking on it, his sobs musical.

Hannibal shoved the tool further, and the gutteral noises stopped, Hannibal taking his knife and slicing a line down the front of Johnny's throat. There was a spatter of blood, then noise, the rhythmic hum of the harmonica as air passed through it.

"I'll take your lungs, and I'll cook them, and I'll feed it to Will before I fuck him." He promised in a level tone. Hannibal reached a stuttering climax when he saw the light leave Johnny's eyes, shifting off of him and tugging his shirt up. He sliced his stomach open and neatly set his organs on the splotchy grass of the forest floor, taking his lungs and wrapping them in his blood-soaked coat. He tredged back home, his foster parents gone to work, and set everying out on the kitchen counter, slicing the beautiful flesh.


	7. 14 & 15 (V)

Johnny Brooke's body was discovered eight hours later by an dog walker, who was with her six year old daughter.

Will Graham was dining with Hannibal that night. A glass of alcohol that wasn't beer, something that could've potentially blinded him in large amounts, was set on the beautifully laid out, candlelit table. It was a dinner date, the first dinner date of his life, and he'd dressed accordingly. Though it was a dinner date, it was also a bitter farewell meal. Until such a time as fate sought to cross their paths again.

"I'm leaving, too." Hannibal voiced. The silence had been deafening.

"But I'll find you. I promise." He glanced up at Will, eyes sad.

"Then we can be together forever."

"Yeah." Will was despondent, staring at his plate. He wasn't remotely hungry, the brunette allowing himself to look at Hannibal, eyes sad as he mulled over how unfair everything was.

"It's... It's not fair. I was right, I... I can never catch you. I doubt I ever will."

"'Catch me'? Why do you feel like I need to be caught?" Hannibal took a bite of the meal he had made for them both, a sip of his foster mother's best wine because he had asked especially nicely for just two for his date.

"Honestly, I think you've already caught me, Will."

"I... You're uncatchable. You'll always slip through my fingers..." Will felt the need to reiterate, shovelling a mouthful of food into his mouth. It was too nice to eat brutishly. He paused, staring at Hannibal with saddened eyes.

"I'll miss you. I always miss you." He sounded so bitter, resigned to the fact.

"Come here, Will." Hannibal slid out from the table and patted his lap, feeling the hot sting of tears in his eyes.

Will stood, recognising the gloss in Hannibal's gaze, though he was trying hard to suppress it. He sat himself on Hannibal's lap, pressing their foreheads together. Will was not really a crying person by nature, but he allowed himself to, dignified, his crying silent.

"You've... You saved me." He muttered.

"I want you to move on... If... If it's two months, or ten years. I don't want to be your burden."

"You could never be a burden, Will." Hannibal wrapped his arms around Will's torso, kissing him gently.

"I love you." His voice was the ghost of a whisper.

"I love you too..." Will murmured softly.

"I'll miss you. I don't want you to leave me. Being without you, that hurts... I love you more than anything, o-or anyone, and..." Hannibal placed his forefinger on Will's lip, silencing the blathering teen. He knew everything that Will felt that he needed to say.

"When I get there, I'll send you a letter. We can be pen pals." He suggested, knowing it would never work. Will would be moving, too, and the letter would arrive to a stranger.

"Stay here, tonight. Drink your wine and sleep next to me. Maybe it'll keep you cool longer if we're close before we leave." He brought Will's chin up, his mouth into a gentle kiss, brushing his tongue over his friend's bottom lip and tasting the honey glaze he had cooked Johnny in. Will nodded slowly, pulling his mouth from Hannibal's.

"I... That might be nice." It wasn't a school night, and the potential for a glorious evening with the only person he'd ever loved, the only person who was remotely capable of understanding his beautiful mind for what could be the last time in his life, was too wonderful to pass up.

Hannibal brushed a curl out of Will's face, head tilted slightly as he examined his companion with genuine compassion on his features.

"I wish we didn't have to part like this. I wish I could take you with me, but I have a year before I have that choice." Hannibal realized he probably shouldn't have been talking about it, but he wanted the ache off his chest.

"Would you like to watch some television? We could lay on the couch." He reached for his wine glass and took a sip, bringing Will to his chest. Will nodded. He just wanted to be close to Hannibal.

_'-While the victim has yet to be formerly identified, we understand that he is a local middle schooler-'_

Hannibal stared at the television, marvelling at the ripples his work was already making. Will, void of most of his clothing and covered by a blanket, was snoozing softly, oblivious.

_'-locals have identified the male as Johnny Brooke. Though we are still waiting for the local PD to make an official statement, this could potentially be linked to the killings of Amelia Fault and Molly Hill-'_ Will stirred in his sleep, and Hannibal pressed a kiss to the male's forehead, closing his own eyes. Will was his, and for a few more hours, everything would be peaceful.


End file.
